Dark Notes(37)

“No problem,” I say casually. Andrea Augustin is a problem, one I’m prepared to resolve. “Miss Westbrook was just leaving.”

Ivory slips off the bench and walks away without looking at me. No, her attention centers on the other teacher. I can’t see her face, but she gives Ms. Augustin a wide berth, her strides stiffening as she vanishes around the corner.

“Have a good weekend, Ivory,” Andrea calls after her.

The door to the hall closes with a despondent click.

Every muscle in my body tenses to run after her, but I have to deal with this problem first.

Andrea turns back to me, hands on her hips, her tone shifting from pleasant to snarly. “What were you doing with her?”

In the faculty hierarchy, she’s technically beneath me. I’m the Director of Keyboard Studies, and she’s just a teacher. I want to use that to my advantage, but she saw what she saw. Enough to report my behavior. Enough to get me fired. Or arrested.

With Ivory, I want nothing between us but the naked truth. But Andrea? All I’ll give her is the best-dressed lie. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her arms lower to her sides, and she blinks. “You were?” Her eyes return to slits. “Why was Ivory Westbrook on your lap?”

I sigh for effect, and now that my cock has finally calmed down, I stand. “I need to gather my things. Follow me, and I’ll explain.”

As we walk to the front of the classroom, I shift close to her, closer than socially acceptable, with my arm brushing hers and my neck craned to give her the full impact of my gaze. “You know her father died? He was killed a few years back?”

“Yes. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I didn’t.” At my desk, I pretend to shut down my laptop, and instead pull up a program and angle the back cover toward her. “She just told me about it, got a little weepy, and I comforted her.”

“In your lap?” She crosses her arms.

It’s an absurd lie, even on the fly. I’ll have to fix this the hard way.

I stalk around the desk, hands behind my back, and let my gaze roam over her body. “I know what you want, Andrea.”

She steps back, bumping into the student desk behind her, and her fingers reach up to toy with her earring. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t be coy. I’ve seen you watching me, your flirty smiles, the way you play with your hair and jewelry when I’m watching you.”

Her hand drops, and she breathes, “Emeric…”

In three strides, I close the distance, crowding her against the desk without touching her. I loosen my tie the rest of the way and slide it from my neck. If Ivory’s heard the Shreveport details, it’s likely Andrea heard as well and is thinking of it now. I wager those rumors are the reason she’s here, face blushing and hooded eyes tracking the trail of silk as I wrap it around my hand.

I put my mouth next to her ear. “You want me to tie you up.”

She sits back, her ass perching on the desk behind her. Her knees part then spread some more, welcoming the nudge of my hips.

“You want me to feed you my cock.” I roughen my voice and quicken my breaths, insinuating I want that, too.

Unfortunately, my unresponsive dick refuses to participate in the ploy, so I maintain a sliver of space between me and the apex of her thighs, where she’s covered by the loose material of her skirt.

She grips my biceps and pushes out her tiny tits, but her attention shifts toward the closed door.

I hover my mouth over her neck, exhaling a steam of feigned desire. “Everyone’s gone home for the weekend, right?”

“Yes.”

“Besides, no one can see us from the window.” I recline back. “I’ll give you one chance, Andrea. Tell me exactly what you want.”

Her gaze lowers to the tie around my hand, and her fingers follow, tracing the silk in my grip. “I—I…want what you said. But we can’t. Not here.”

She looks back at the door, licking her lips.

“No, not here.” I move away and return to the desk, leaning on the edge beside the laptop. “Before I decide to take you home, you have to show me how badly you want me.”

Excitement brightens her face. Then her eyebrows dig in. “H—how?

“Show me how wet you are. Go ahead. No one will see.”

Her expression contorts as uncertainty battles desire. I know which will win, but she drags out the silence, working herself into a heaving, flushed jumble of anxiety.

Finally, her breathing quiets, and her hands fumble with the folds of her skirt.

“Spread your legs, Andrea.”

She does, eyes on the door as she feels around the satin crotch. “How do I—”

“Under the panties. There you go.”

She tosses her head and makes some noise.

I’m not really paying attention, but I let her rub around in there for a while. “Now hold up your hand.”

She lifts her arm and smiles at her fingers. I don’t give a shit if they’re wet or not. I have what I need.

I hit a key on the laptop and question the wisdom in telling her what I did.

It’s better to be proactive than reactive.

Gripping the screen, I flip the laptop toward her and back up the silent video to the juicy part.

Shock comes first, paling her complexion and paralyzing her body. Then outrage.